Best Dressed
by anonwhat
Summary: Draco didn't expect the prelude to a night out to include someone else's clothes and a Muggle camera. From then on the night got better and better. And drunker and drunker.
1. Best Dressed

Title: Best Dressed

Rating: R (for language)

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: Written from a prompt or two of kitty_fic's over at livejournal's hd_commentfest's August Comment Fest.

* * *

><p>Draco pulled at the hem of his... cardigan? Jacket? He didn't even know what the blasted thing was called. He begrudgingly admitted that it was comfortable, though. And he rather liked the zippy-thing. Smiling to himself, he pulled the tiny white tab all the way up to his neck, making the zippy-thing close. Then he pulled it all the way back down again, leaving the zippy-thing open. Muggles had some good ideas occasionally, he conceded—to himself only.<p>

"Come on, stand over there," Hermione called from across the room. "I _have_ to take a photo of this; the world need evidence."

"Evidence of what?" Ron asked. "A Gryffindor/Slytherin piss-up or Malfoy in Muggle clothes?"

"Both!" was the answer called by several people.

"Piss off!" Draco wasn't impressed.

After a few minutes of forceful shuffling and cajoling, Hermione managed to get a few people to stand still long enough for a photo.

Finding himself next to Potter on the end of a line of Gryffindors, Draco smirked at the fact that, even in Muggle clothes, he was the best dressed out of the lot of them. And he didn't even want to _think_ about why Ron had Potter's face on his chest.

The camera that Hermione held up to capture the moment looked unfamiliar to Draco and he could only assume it was another Muggle item. Draco was unsure as to the the nature of Muggle photographs, so when Hermione called, "Say cheese!" Draco simply shrugged, pointed at Potter and rolled his eyes.

Draco had hoped to convey an 'It's all Potter's fault' air in the photograph; it _was_ after all. As soon as the prat had found out that Draco and Hermione were working together at the Ministry, that Neville and Blaise had become friendly after a drunken night at the Leaky, and not to mention the fact that Pansy and Ginny were constantly gossiping together any chance they got, he had insisted the lot of them go out together to... "get pissed and get over it" were his exact words. It had taken the better part of six months for it to actually happen, by which time the getting over it had kind of already happened. The getting pissed part might be fun, though.

Draco's hope for his pose was dashed when Hermione squealed and ran over to show them the photo. Slightly embarrassed was more apt for how Draco felt about the resulting photo. On the back of the tiny silver thing was a screen in which the photo was held. The photo was not moving. In the eerily still photograph Draco was smiling—_smiling_, how had that happened?—and pointing at Potter. Potter, who had a grin plastered on his face and an arm around Draco's back!

"That's so sweet!" Hermione cooed.

"I think I might vomit," Draco replied.

Potter laughed. "Well don't do it on those clothes; I want them back tomorrow."

Oh yes. If going out to get drunk with a bunch of red-and-golds wasn't enough, Draco had had to borrow Potter's clothes for the privilege. Thankfully Potter wasn't overly large and the clothes fit Draco fairly well. Horizontally, at least. Potter was a good few inches shorter than Draco, so a few charms had been necessary to lengthen the trouser legs. Even then, Draco had been forced to wear the trousers low on his hips. And he hadn't even bothered lengthening the cardigan, so now and again, if he stretched and bent, Draco would—inadvertently, of course—reveal a portion of smooth pale skin. Not that he had spent time in front of the mirror experimenting with that fact or anything.

"You could have them back now, if only you'd let me put my robes back on," Draco complained.

"We're going out in _Muggle_ London, Draco," Potter said, as if to a child.

"I know that, Potter—"

"_Harry_."

"—_Potter,_" Draco repeated. Potter had been trying to get Draco to call him Harry for the last few months. It wasn't working. "But I like my robes. They're dark, and soft and have room to move in." He knew he was sulking now, but he didn't care. "And they swish around my ankles!" he cried.

The laughter that escaped Potter was gentle and not mean, but Draco still cringed at his own words. In an effort to move swiftly past the embarrassment, Draco quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Plus they don't smell like you."

At those words, Potter's light laughter stopped and he looked up at Draco. Draco refused to blush. It just wouldn't happen. No.

His face suddenly felt hot.

_Fuck_.

"What?" Draco decided to be defensive. "You smell bad."

It took a few seconds, but a smile gradually appeared on Potter's face.

"I'm sure by the time I get them back they'll smell entirely of you," Potter said, still smiling. "Which won't be so bad."

Unable to believe what he'd just heard, Draco blinked a few times and didn't know what to say. Draco's shock must have shown on his face.

"What?" Potter asked. "You smell good."

Suddenly feeling very peculiar, Draco didn't know what to do but laugh. Soon, Potter joined in.

A few seconds later Hermione unsubtly cleared her throat and Draco realised she had been standing there silently watching his and Potter's exchange.

"I hate to interrupt you two when you're getting along so well, but I would love to document the moment with a photo." She waved the camera at them and smiled.

"Of course!" Potter said, far too enthusiastically.

Before Draco even had time to _think_ about protesting Potter had plastered another grin on his face and slung his arm back around Draco's waist.

Giving in to the peculiar feelings he'd been having since he first registered Potter had had his arm there for the first photo, Draco smiled once again and casually draped his arm over Potter's shoulders.

At the same moment as Hermione cried, "Say cheese" for the second time that night, Draco distinctly heard a loud sigh from behind them. Then the unmistakable sound of Ron's voice saying, "About bloody time, but do I have to _see_ it!" just as the flash went off.

- End -


	2. Drunk Enough

Title: Drunk Enough

Rating: R

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: This sequel got written because I had intended to write about their night out in the original, but due to time restraints, I was unable to. There _will not_ be another part to this story, _please _don't ask for one!

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><p>Draco's friends and his… <em>friends of friends<em> (because could Draco ever _really_ be friends with a Gryffindor?) had finally finished taking their many many photographs. Although this meant Draco and Potter no longer had an excuse to throw their arms around each other, it also meant they would be heading out to somewhere that sold alcohol. Draco liked alcohol.

The night started out relatively subdued. Draco was pleasantly surprised when the first pub they went to had no music, cheap drinks and comfortable seats. It meant Draco could actually talk to the people around him (on second thoughts, maybe the lack of music wasn't a good thing), consume a fair amount of alcohol (did Draco mention that he liked alcohol?) and be relaxed while doing it.

There was only one problem with the first pub, and that was the seating arrangements.

Draco was sandwiched between Neville and Pansy, which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that they kept leaning over Draco to flirt with each other. Seeing Neville Longbottom fluttering his eyelashes at the girl who had been Draco's best friend since before they could talk, and only inches away from his own face, really wasn't something Draco wanted to see without having a vomit-bucket handy.

Across from Draco was the ever-entertaining Ronald. It would seem that Ron was even more inept at all things Muggle than Draco himself. Obviously used to the smoother flavour of Butterbeer, Ron had scrunched up his face at the first sip of his ale and had slid it unhesitatingly up the table to Greg, who had downed it in all of five seconds before resuming his own drink (all time being watched by Ginny, chin in her palm and heat in her eyes). After that Hermione, ever the perfect wife, began buying Ron brightly coloured drinks in bottles. These Ron guzzled down like pop, which they must have been, because he then proceeded to burp loudly every few minutes.

The _real_ problem with the seating arrangements was the fact that Potter was too far up the table for Draco to even attempt conversation. Not that Draco actually wanted to talk to him. It just might have been nice. But it was fine, really. Draco could at least see him. Potter had been nursing one pint of lager all night so far, seemingly too engrossed in conversation with Luna (shit, there was a Ravenclaw on this night out? Draco had to admit it was nice to dilute the hoard of Gryffindors, but he hoped like hell there weren't any stray Hufflepuffs floating about) to bother with his drink.

* * *

><p>By the time they made it to the second pub, Draco was pleasantly tipsy while still in complete control of his body and mind. Ron, however, had obviously had one—or twenty—too many of those lurid "alcopops" and had taken to stumbling around, grabbing on to anything he could to keep himself upright. Including one embarrassing incident involving Pansy's breasts. Remembering the look on both Pansy's and Hermione's faces would make Draco smile for weeks to come.<p>

This pub was slightly different from the first in all the wrong ways. The seating, while stylish, was less comfortable. There was music that, although not too loud, wasn't to Draco's taste. Thankfully the drinks were just as cheap, and by his third—or was it fourth? Draco was starting to lose count—pint, Draco found he didn't mind the stupid chairs and awful music so much.

Another excellent thing about this pub was that Draco found himself sitting directly opposite Potter. Because of this, Draco barely noticed when Pansy and Neville began snogging to his left. And Draco could hardly bring himself to laugh when Ron spilt his 57th alcopop of the evening all over his wife's crotch.

Draco's attention was focused on Potter.

"You're not nearly drunk enough, Potter," Draco said as he leaned across the table on his elbows.

"Harry," Potter corrected automatically. "And how drunk is 'drunk enough', Draco?"

The first thought that sprang to Draco's mind was 'Drunk enough to kiss me', but Draco wasn't quite yet drunk enough to voice it.

Draco settled on, "Drunk enough to dance!" instead and pointed at the small dance floor not far away. On it Greg and Ginny seemed to getting along rather well, if the excessive gyrating and sweating was any indication.

"Oh god!" Potter cried. "Why did you make me look at that? I may now never want to dance in my life." With his hands raised up to shield his eyes, Potter shook his head back and forth.

All Draco could do was laugh.

"It's not funny," Potter mumbled from beneath his hands.

"Oh yes, it is," Draco said. "You're just not drunk enough!"

With that Draco stood and, in turn, pulled Potter to his feet. They made their way over to the bar where Draco bought two more pints and forcibly pushed one into Potter's palm.

"Drink!" Draco insisted. "Drunk is good."

"You get a lot more inarticulate when you're drunk," Potter commented. Followed quickly with, "Did you know that?"

"I am perfectly aware that my speech has a tendency to get a little idle when I am inebriated, but I assure you I still have full access of my vast vocabulary and can use it if and as I so dictate. Is that clear?" Draco looked straight at Potter and raised a demanding eyebrow.

"Crystal," Potter replied, with a slight flush and glaze to his eyes. Draco almost would've thought he was turned on.

"Good, because that hurt my head," Draco said before letting his aforementioned head fall against his arm on the bar.

Potter laughed and lightly patted Draco's shoulder. The warmth from Potter's hand seemed to ease the pain in Draco's head and he looked up to see Potter drinking deeply from his drink. Smiling, Draco took a swing of his own.

After that Potter seemed to loosen up exponentially, and was drinking two pints for Draco's every one. Soon enough Potter really did seem 'drunk enough'. Although Draco still wasn't pissed enough himself to declare his need for Potter to snog him, he was plucking up the drunken courage (see, Gryffindorish was contagious!) to ask Potter to dance.

It was just as Draco turned his head to Potter and opened his mouth, with his—no doubt slurred—request on his lips, that the still drunk Ron appeared and threw his arms around both Draco's and Potter's shoulders.

"Is really good yous two fially own'd up and sort't out," was what came out of Ron's mouth.

"What's really good what?" Potter asked, squinting at his _very_ drunken friend.

"You!" Ron pointed at Potter. "And you!" He swivelled on the spot until his finger pointed at Draco. "Yous two!" Ron finished his bizarre outburst with pinch to both Draco's and Potter's cheeks before smiling and wondering off again, calling Hermione's name. Or what Draco assumed was supposed to be Hermione's name. "Erm-knee" couldn't have meant much else.

"I don't think I've ever seen him this drunk," Potter mused.

"I don't think you ever will again, if Hermione has anything to do with it." As he spoke, Hermione could clearly be seen at their group's table a few feet away berating Ron for his antics. Ron seemed oblivious, rather he was making himself comfortable on Hermione's shoulder and likely attempting to settle down for a nap.

"I still don't know what he was on about." Potter shook his head and patted his own face. "And what was with the cheek pinching?"

"I have no fucking clue." Draco licked his lips in contemplation before adding, "But I was a bit confused with his sober outburst of, 'About time', before we left, weren't you?" He paused, letting the question hang there for a moment. "So there's no hope of me understanding an utterly pissed Ron."

Skilfully avoiding the cunning trap Draco had lain for him, Potter simply side-stepped the question completely by returning the favour asking Draco a seemingly unrelated question.

"Why do you call everyone by their first name but me?"

Unprepared for the question, as well as the genuinely curious look—not to mention the small hint of hurt—on Potter's face, Draco sniffled and resorted to a blatant lie. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, Draco, you do," Potter said with particular emphasis on Draco's name. "Hermione I understand, you see her every day and are never anything less than professional colleagues, but _Ron_? _Neville_? How can you be okay with addressing them as friends, but not me?"

Even drunk, stupidly honest and pouting, Potter was gorgeous.

Draco mentally cursed himself for such thoughts at a moment like this and suddenly wished he was sober. He wasn't in the right state of mind to examine his feelings and intentions on this issue. And he certainly wasn't in a fit state to discuss them with Potter.

"You'll always be Potter, Potter." Draco shrugged and, unsure what else to say without either giving himself away or hurting Potter's feelings more than he already had done, he rose from his chair and walked away.

* * *

><p>The third pub of the evening wasn't really a pub at all. There were no seats, simply tall tables to stand around. The music was deafeningly loud and really, Draco wouldn't call it music at all. More like noise. What made this place the best pub they had been to yet, however, was the standing arrangements. Immediately, and rather closely, to Draco's right stood Potter. The whole group was standing around a fairly small table, and Draco's side was pushed up quite tightly against Potter's. Draco was very far from complaining.<p>

After only one drink around the cramped table their crowd began to thin. First to go, unsurprisingly, was Hermione and Ron. The last straw had been when Ron began trying to undress his wife right there in front of everyone else. Second to disappear were the two new couples of the evening; Neville and Pansy, who walked out with lips locked and arms waving goodbye, and Greg and Ginny, who had wandered off to the bathroom together at least 20 minutes ago, probably to Apparate home as they hadn't been seen since. Only when Luna eventually finished her drink and finally approached the woman at the bar she'd been eyeing all night did Draco realise that he and Potter were now alone.

Still unsure as to how Potter felt after the way Draco had walked off in the last pub, Draco didn't know what to say, so settle for surreptitiously glancing at Potter and imagining himself kissing him. After several slightly uncomfortable minutes, Potter downed the half-pint that still remained in his glass and slammed the empty down on the table in front of him.

"I'm drunk enough now," Potter declared.

"Drunk enough for what?" Draco asked, the fleeting worry that he'd spoken his fantasies out loud.

"Dancing!" Potter answered as he swooped around the table and grabbed Draco's wrist.

They were both a little unsteady on their feet as they made their way over to the dance floor, but not nearly enough to need boob support from any unsuspecting ladies on the way.

Draco wasn't sure how able bodied he currently was in his drunken state, but brushed off his fear of looking stupid when Potter let go of his wrist and began dancing. Well, 'dancing' was pretty far from the truth, but Draco was feeling generous.

Resisting the urge to laugh in Potter's face, Draco gripped the drunken man's arms and held him still.

"What?" Potter asked, pouting.

Luckily the music chose that moment to change into something a little slower, so Draco pulled on Potter's arms and drew him closer.

"Come here," Draco said in a voice he hadn't meant to sound _quite_ so seductive. It seemed to work though, as Potter yielded under Draco's force and pressed himself against Draco unquestioningly.

They moved together, as one, to the music. Gradually the tempo increased, and so did their movements. They kept their bodies in contact as much as possible, their arms and hands holding each other close, as they danced. Strong, warm hands had managed to find their way inside the too-short top that Draco had borrowed from Potter and rested possessively on Draco's hips. It was bliss.

A couple of songs later Draco began to feel the familiar stirring in his groin, but he was far too involved in his dancing with Potter—or far too drunk, Draco couldn't quite decide—to worry about the potential embarrassment of getting an erection right now. And any embarrassment there might have been was obliterated when Potter softly, and probably unconsciously, ground his hips towards Draco. The hard heat that met Draco's thigh was enough to make him moan. He mentally thanked the DJ for playing the music so loudly; Potter couldn't have heard him. When Draco felt Potter smile against his neck (and when had Potter's face found its way there?), he felt a twinge of shame as he realised Potter must have felt the vibrations of Draco's moan through his chest.

With the literal evidence of both of their feelings rubbing together between them, Draco abandoned his shame and embarrassment. He let his hands, which had been holding Potter innocently around his lower back, drop down until they rested lightly on Potter's arse cheeks. This time it was Draco's turn feel Potter moan, but with the proximity of Potter's mouth to Draco's ear, he was lucky enough to hear it as well. Encouraged, Draco allowed his hands to clench and squeeze Potter's arse. Potter seemed to like it, and didn't seem to be able to choose between the pleasure at his front and his back, instead alternating between pressing his groin forwards against Draco's and pushing his arse back into Draco's waiting hands.

A few minutes later Potter began kissing Draco's neck, and Draco let his head drop to the side slightly to give Potter more room. Feeling Potter's lips (and tongue; Draco closed his eyes tightly in pleasure) travelling up and down his neck caused Draco's hands to tighten on Potter's arse and use his grip to pull Potter to him for firmly. Draco felt them both gasp at the sensation and bent his head until his lips met Potter's. The kiss completed Draco's need, and the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

They stood on the dance floor, grinding, groping and snogging—and decidedly _not_ dancing—for at least three more songs before someone obviously got tired of the show.

"Get a room," someone yelled, as a couple of other people wolf-whistled in their direction.

"I think that's a mighty fine suggestion," whispered Potter against Draco's ear when they had finally managed to separate their mouths.

Draco wasn't sure he could speak, so he simply nodded.

Mere minutes later, after following their friends' example and Apparating out from the toilet, Draco found himself in Potter's bedroom. Unable to stop himself, Draco took the opportunity to look around as Potter once again busied himself with Draco's neck.

It wasn't long though before Draco's attention was drawn back to Potter who had begun nibbling at Draco's now over-sensitive flesh. Draco renewed his arse-groping efforts and was rewarded with a clear and completely unmuffled groan of pleasure from Potter.

Draco was just dipping his fingers under the waistband of Potter's trousers, eager to reach the goal that awaited him between those perfectly holdable cheeks, when Potter did something that made Draco freeze.

"Did you just—Did you just _sniff_ me?" Draco was slightly shocked, to say the least.

Potter simply shrugged, and when he answered it was into Draco's neck. "I told you you smell good."

Before Draco had a chance to respond Potter had inhaled deeply, right at the spot behind Draco's ear. To Draco's surprise it sent a tingle of pleasure from that spot right down to his cock, which twitched.

"Potter..." Draco began, unsure of what it was he actually wanted to say.

Potter silenced him with a kiss.

When the kiss ended, Potter eyed Draco up and down before looking him in the eye.

"You know," Potter said with a suggestive smile, "I think I'd like my clothes back now."

* * *

><p>When Draco opened his eyes, it was to see brightly stunning green ones staring back at him.<p>

"Hi," Harry whispered.

"Hello," Draco whispered back.

The smile that appeared on Harry's face was more blinding than the sun that was pouring through the window above the bed.

"What are you so pleased about?" Draco asked as he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

"You," Harry replied as he pinched Draco's cheek.

Draco frowned, suddenly finding himself unhappily transported back a much more confusing time during the night before. Wanting to rid himself of such thoughts, Draco quickly turned his attention back to Harry.

"Me what?"

"You're here. In my bed. With me." Harry's cheeks were reddening is an adorable blush, but the soppy git seemed disinclined to stop. "You made love to me. You came home with me. You kissed me. You got me drunk." At this point Harry seemed to pause for dramatic effect. "You _like_ me."

Startled by Harry's happy earnestness, a smile quickly found its way onto Draco's face.

"Yes, to all of that, you ridiculous sap."

"And best of all..." Harry said, teasingly. Draco raised his eyebrows expectantly. "...I found a way to make you say my name." Now Harry was grinning. "_Scream_ it, in fact."

Moving quickly, Draco grabbed Harry around the waist, who was caught off guard. Draco manoeuvred him until Harry was laying on his back beneath Draco with a shock- and lust-filled look in his eyes.

"I'll show you screaming, _Harry_."

- End -


End file.
